Excerpt

Minutes later, when he walked through the door of the coffee shop, Samantha was standing near the entrance. Waiting. For him? He smiled. “Hello again.”

She eyed him up and down, taking in his pin-striped suit and his red Converses. He extended a hand. “I’m the Doctor.”

“Doctor who?”

“Exactly.” He turned toward the register. When the cashier looked at him, he ordered his usual black, no cream, no sugar and a large caramel macchiato for Samantha. As he reached for his wallet, she jumped in front of him.

“I’ve got this. I owe you for the other day.” She paid for the drinks. As she tucked her wallet back into her purse, she turned to face him. “So really, what costume is this?”

She didn’t get it. “Doctor Who. British TV show. Time Lord. Daleks. TARDIS.” He watched her face for any sign of recognition. He found none. Sweeping a hand over himself, he added, “I’m the tenth doctor.” Still nothing.

“I think I’ve heard of it.” She smiled. It was enough to make his day, even if she was clueless about Doctor Who.

When their coffee was ready, he handed her the cup and was at a loss for what was supposed to happen next. He sucked at this.

Samantha pointed toward a table. “I have my books over here if you want to sit.”

“Books! The best weapons in the world!” As soon as he said it, he knew it was a mistake, but once in character, he couldn’t always stop. And the Doctor’s words always sounded better than his own.

Samantha giggled a little. “I agree with the sentiment, maybe even your enthusiasm. It’s one of the things I try to get across to the kids I work with.”

“Kids? Are you a teacher?” He followed her to the table, knowing he couldn’t stay long because he had to go to rehearsal, but he wanted to hear more.

“No. I’m studying to be a social worker, so I volunteer at a shelter for victims of domestic abuse. I see a lot of kids who are utterly hopeless, so I try to give them some hope, teach them that things can be different.” She sat and slid her books toward the edge.

He took the seat across from her and waited. He hoped she would continue the conversation. She sipped from her cup and then licked a bit of foam from her top lip. Free stared at the tip of her tongue and her pink lip, entranced. Then she smiled again.

“You’re in need of books for your kids. What kind?”

“We take anything. I’m working mostly with little kids right now. Hence the paint and glue stuck to me all the time. It’s just that they come to us with so little, except for the number of problems.”

“Books are an excellent escape.” He drank his coffee and thought about where he could get books for her. His mother would know. She knew the ins and outs of many things when it came to charity. “What was your favorite book at that age?”

“The Little Engine That Could.”

Even as a child she was prepared to save other children and make a difference. “Then I guess we’ll have to start with that one, won’t we?”

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice so quiet it was nearly a whisper.

“The hoper of far-flung hopes and the dreamer of improbable dreams.”

She leaned forward and propped her chin in her hand. He became uneasy beneath her scrutiny, so he stood. “I have to get going. I have rehearsal.”

“So you’re an actor.”

He nodded.  “Until next time.”